


Homesick

by Sholio



Category: White Collar
Genre: Character Study, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mozzie POV after 3x16, "Judgment Day". Spoilers. He never saw this coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homesick

_It would be funny,_ Mozzie thinks, _if it weren't so pathetic_ \-- but of all the problems he expected when they left New York, he never could have anticipated this.

He knew all along that Neal would be an issue. Actually, he never expected Neal to say yes at all -- but still, he had to ask, and he already had the pieces in place for a quick escape in case the commutation hearing didn't go well. Neal's gentle "no" in the ambulance was the answer he'd expected. Not the breathless phone call, a day later, whispering a single word: "Infrared."

Infrared. Their old color code. Infrared is the state beyond "red". It means "drop everything now; we have to get out."

(Learning later that Neal ran because Peter told him to -- well, Mozzie isn't surprised, exactly. A little disappointed, but not surprised.)

Even once they're free and clear, he knows Neal is going to take it hard. He expects Neal to be moody and distracted and depressed, and he gets all of that, and then some.

But he never saw the rest of it coming.

He never would have believed how often he'll start reading a book and want to call Elizabeth and discuss a plot point with her. Or he'll smell a certain perfume, sip a particular blend of tea, and it'll take him straight back to long winter afternoons playing cribbage and Parcheesi with June. Heaven help him, he even misses the Suit, although he can't imagine why and knows he wouldn't admit it even under torture.

He never could have anticipated that when they go to fence the first pieces of the treasure to finance their glorious retirement, the gold coins fall through his fingers and all he can see is the bruising on Elizabeth's arms, the desperation in Peter's eyes. He looks at Neal and sees the sick look on his friend's face, and they nail the lid back on the crate, and speak of it no more.

The unexpected lack of funding means that, rather than living the high life, they're forced to nurse along the few reserves that Mozzie was able to liquidate before they left. They run little cons -- card games, simple street cons -- to supplement their meager income. Whenever Mozzie suggests anything big, Neal won't go for it; he doesn't want to try anything that he thinks might get back to Peter. Doesn't want Peter to know they're still in the lifestyle.

They might as well not be, for all the money they're making at it.

And still he thinks of New York. The particular quality of light in the spring. The smell of the streets after a rain. The cab drivers yelling at each other, the SoHo art galleries, the setting sun turning the buildings to sheets of flame.

This is the life he's always dreamed of, ever since he left Detroit as a terrified kid on the run from the mob. He's footloose and free, with his best friend at his side and the world at his feet.

The whole damn world. And all he can think is that it feels more confining than New York ever did.


End file.
